


Unspoken Words 2.0

by Wildwish



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, MILD physical fighting, Mild Blood, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildwish/pseuds/Wildwish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, John Egbert, meet the first and best friend you've had in years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Some of you may have read the first draft of this fic, http://archiveofourown.org/works/635272/chapters/1150042 , that I wrote three years ago. Well, I've decided that I'm going to edit and fully flesh out this story, because I can't get enough of these two ;w; . Once I upload this and update the old fic, the old one will be deleted -- just to save others from spoilers!
> 
> As for the warnings... Characters do get injured and there are descriptions of the fighting when there is. It's VERY minimal in the grand scheme of the story, though -- so don't worry! There is also verbal abuse towards a character, but again, it's very minimal. The vast majority of this fic focuses on john and dave's friendship/relationship!!

“Alright, class, we have a new student. What’s your name?”

You look up from your homework that you had been quickly scribbling down. A kid your age was standing in the front, his head tipped slightly to his left as if he were listening closely to the teacher. His hair was white, which made you squint your eyes to make sure it wasn’t just a light blonde. No, it was white, like a full moon in winter. He wore ridiculous black aviator shades over his eyes, and his face didn’t betray any emotions whatsoever. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of his nose and the tips of his cheekbones. His hands were in his pockets and he was leaning back a little as if observing the classroom yet not caring at the same time.

The boy pulled his left hand out of his pocket after a moment and signed, 'Dave Strider.' The class failed to suppress their chuckle and the teacher sighed in exasperation. “Ah, so we have a class clown here. Signing because you’re in ASL class.  _Genius_." Mr. Vantas scoffed, disgusted. "As if we needed _more_ 'class clowns' in this god forsaken place. I don't get paid enough for this! It's as if there's no hope left in..."

The rest of Mr. Vantas' ramble is lost within the growing background noise of kids who are murmuring about who this new kid was. Their volume increases as Dave walked down the aisle of rows of chairs. His hands were still in his pockets, and not once did he seem to noticeably _look_ for a chair. He just walked down nonchalantly.

"And -- Oh great, _thank you_ Dave Strider!" Mr. Vantas hissed his name with such discontent that it made even you flinch. "Just take a seat while I'm speaking instead of waiting for you to be dismissed from the front. _Dandy!_ Makes my damn job easier!" The whole class began laughing at the predicament, unable to contain themselves, whilst you gulped. Mr. Vantas was in a horrible mood today, and Dave's cool demeanor wasn't helping. Where was he, anyway?

Oh.

Dave had stopped at an empty seat... which happened to be the one next to yours. Looking over it with mild interest, he eventually took his right hand out of its pocket-prison and flicked out the chair gracefully, taking a seat.

You wait for the sound of a backpack being thrown onto the glossy tile before realizing that oh, Dave Strider doesn’t have a backpack. He was just that cool, wasn’t he? You couldn’t decide whether you hated the superficial attitude or if you admired his minimal prankster’s gambit (you were pretty sure you could easily out-prank this faker). You could tell he was listening to the teacher, but you also could see the coolkid act. A little frustrated, you sigh and mindlessly chew the top of your pencil's eraser.

 _Where is he from? Why did he come in so late in the semester?_ Your mind can't help but begin to race with thoughts, likely influenced by the murmurs of gossip that were already spreading. _Is he an asshole? Is that why he's doing this weird jest? Or is he trying to impress everyone? Or is this just how he is?_ You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. You feel just awful thinking these thoughts. _Gah!_ _It's so rude to think like this when I haven't even known him!_ As your brain tries again to spiel gossip, you groan softly and lay your head on your desk.

 

Although you had been resisting the urge to, you give in and glance over at him about halfway through the class. Dave is subtly tapping his pale fingers on his desk like he didn’t want to make any noise. _That’s odd,_ you think to yourself, going over the first moments in your head. None of this matched up! Without thinking, you lean forward towards him and whisper, “Psst.” He immediately freezes, but you can see him deliberately ‘defrosting,’ so to speak. After a moment, he barely turns his head towards you and signs, 'What?' under his desk. You can’t help but smile at that, your oval-shaped front teeth peeping out from your lips as you grin. “I’m John. John Egbert.” You both duck down a little as the teacher sweeps the room, and when he turns around again you slightly lean back towards each other.

'Cool.' Dave signs very quickly, you realize, and you almost have trouble following his hands and fingers. 'Aren’t you supposed to always sign in ASL? Like speaking Spanish in Spanish class?'

You cover your mouth to stifle a chuckle and whisper, “Nah. To be honest, I don’t think Mr. Vantas even cares what we do in this class. He just hates kids.”

Dave flashes you an almost puzzled look, like, ‘why would you study to be a teacher if you hate kids,’ but in the end he just shrugs and goes back to tapping his desk with his fingerpads, staring up at the ceiling as if in thought.

You decide that Dave is alright.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! college sort of got in the way. expect new chapters every friday!

You thought he was alright, but you didn't need him in _every single class._

At first, you thought you kept ending up near him, just walking in the same direction... but came to realize that, no, he had the _same exact classes as you._ It annoyed you, but not really -- it was mostly mild anxiety that he would think that you were stalking him or something. 

But he didn't seem to mind, either. As the school day went on, you both would exchange a glance of, 'same class again?' You would bite your lip; Dave would raise a curious eyebrow. And no matter where you sat, he sat near you. _Next_ to you, if he could.

You don't know how to feel about it. _It's just because he knows me from first period,_ you reason. _It's really nothing else._

You stretch as the bell rings to signal the end of the school day. Instinctively, you look around to search out the new attraction. He was yawning whilst making his way out of the class -- away from you, without a word. Although you should have felt relief that you weren't walking in the same direction, you can't help but feel disappointed that he just... left without a word.

_Ugh!_ you lament inwardly, shaking your head and shouldering your backpack as you walked out of class towards your neighborhood. _Stop expecting things. It's literally his first day here. Friends aren't just made in a millisecond._

***

On Wednesday morning, two days after Dave's arrival, you walk to school to find an odd sight. A hoard of girls were clumped in the front of the main entrance of the school, and they looked to be talking excitedly. You had an inkling about what it might be about; you made your way over warily.

Indeed, they were talking about the new Strider.

"Did you see that hottie? Apparently he's called Dave Strider."

"Wow, what a cool name!"

"I've heard that he's never spoken to anyone. Not once!"

"Ohhh? Wonder if he's shy!"

You sigh, already exhausted from just _listening_ to the shallow conversation. "Excuse me," you manage as you put your arms straight out in front of you to part the seas. The girls glance at you, but don't really pay you any mind, going back to their gossiping. It was true that he did not talk during any of his classes; in fact, he signed, if anything. It was only until now that you didn't really think much of it. Perhaps you were too caught up in your worry to really take notice of it.

You flop down into your seat and sigh. Mr. Vantas hears it and snaps a glare in your direction, as if you had sighed so loudly that you knocked over his card tower or something. You roll your eyes and rest your chin in your hands, dragging your pencil lightly across your lined paper in boredom.

_Why is he so... popular? This never really happens in school. At least, if it does, I don't really talk to anyone to hear of it. So the fact that people are talking about him so much already... I wonder what's so intriguing about him? Is it just that he's attractive?_ You hum quietly in thought. _Sure, he's attractive, I guess. I never really thought of it that way. He's just some new kid who likes speaking ASL --_

A hand waving in front of your eyes breaks your train of thought and makes your heart nearly jump out of your chest. Your body flinches and you restrain yourself from letting out a small yell in surprise. You look around frantically, trying to find the hand's owner.

Dave's eyebrows are nearly through the roof, and you can tell that he's trying very hard to not smirk. You stare in disbelief. _I thought it was Mr. Vantas and expected being chewed out._ You squint, annoyed. "What?" you whisper.

He stares back at you, trying to play off his own startled reaction as if nothing had happened. 'You just looked really serious,' he eventually signed. He looks just as confused as you.

Okay, you think you might be way more confused than him. Whatever. You turn to face the front of the class, not knowing why you felt as irritated as you did.

 

At lunch, you grab the slop that high school calls "food" and sit at your normal table, alone and by the window. It's routine for you and you don't care. You don't mind eating alone.

So it was a huge surprise when someone sat across from you. It was none other than Dave Strider. You look up, pausing in the middle of putting something in your mouth with your plastic fork. He still had his lame aviator shades on. He was resting his left arm on the windowsill, looking comfortable as ever.

"Uh... hi," you eventually choke out.

'Hey,' he signs back. 'Do you mind if I sit here?'

"I mean, I guess not."

He furrows his eyebrows with concern. 'Bro I can leave if you want.'

You blink, flustered. "Er, no! Th-That's not what I meant at all." You look to the side, horribly conscious about your front teeth all of a sudden. "It's just, uh, I'm not used to people choosing to sit with me. That's all."

Dave tipped his head with confusion, now leaning forward slightly, both arms on the table. 'Weird. You seem pretty alright to me,' he signs.

You glance around, wondering if this was a horrible prank. You don't really... know what to say to that. You hope you aren't blushing or anything -- you aren't used to compliments. "Thanks?" you end up sputtering, but it sounds just as stupid as you thought it would. "God, I should shut up. Sorry. I'm pretty lame." You avoid eye contact. _Ugh now I've really done it. Do I want to drive him off? Jeez self, nice going -- ah!_

A moderate flick to the nose makes you reel back in surprise, cutting your thoughts. "What the fuck was that for?!"

'You had that super serious look again,' he signs back, completely unphased. You huff.

"You don't need to flick my face. Jeez."

He smirks, and it pisses you off.

 

Sort of.


	3. Chapter 3

Your inevitable friendship started the week after, when Dave made a habit of waiting for you after your classes (and you waited for him, too). Although every girl fawned over him and every dude wanted to be him, he still chose a two-seat table in the lunch room and made sure you were the other one in the chair across from him. The eyes that darted towards you both made you anxious at first, but you became accustomed to them; soon, they weren't noticeable in the slightest. 

"Is it true that you make your own music?" You blurt suddenly when Dave shovels some mashed potatoes into his mouth. You can see his blonde eyebrows raise a bit in mild surprise, and you rub the back of your neck consciously. "Sorry, that was sort of out of the blue. I just heard some kids talking about it in one of our classes."

Dave pauses for a moment, making sure his shades didn't slide down his nose by keeping a taut pinkie finger on their surface. Before you can make a retort, he looks up and signs something really quickly. You scratch your head, giving him a puzzled look; he catches on and signs slower: 'Yeah I make my own beats.'

You feel your eyes light up. "Do you really?! That's so cool! What do you play?"

His head twitches as he glances to the side. 'Well... I can sort of play drums but I mostly just remix beats with my turntables.'

"Oh." You try to hide your disappointment that ends up creeping in your voice. You smile. "I've never seen turntables in person before, actually. How big are they?"

Dave motions on the table -- 'about this wide.'

You raise your eyebrows. "Wow! That's a lot bigger than I thought."

Dave shrugs, leaning down slightly to take another bite of his lunch. He pauses for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. He signs just as you're about to ask him what he was thinking. 'I have a show Friday night. Tomorrow.' He looks up, trying to appear cool and nonchalant, but you notice that his shoulders are tight. You wait, not quite getting what he was implying. He sighs. 'If you'd want to come, anyway.'

You blink. "I -- That'd be awesome! I can't believe you're already playing shows."

He shrugs again, attempting to hide a smile. 'I've been doing it for a few years now.' His smirk disappears. 'It might be my last show though.'

"Huh?" You frown. "Why?"

Dave holds up a finger silently. The bell rings, signaling the next class. He stands with purpose, cracking his back before picking up his tray. He looks at you -- at least, you think he is through the shades -- and you realize that it is time for class.  


_I guess he'll tell me after class,_ you think.

 

He does not.

You're almost waiting for him to continue your conversation from lunch, but Dave's hands are in his pockets, his shoulders slack and relaxed. Before you bring it up, Dave ends up interrupting you again when he turns to face you and pulls out his phone from his pocket. You cock your head to the side. He sighs, slightly amused. 'Egbert, sometimes you're so oblivious,' he signs close to your face. 

You scoff. "Rude!" Glancing at his phone, you follow suit and pull out yours. "Exchange numbers, right?" You ask proudly.

'Good job John, you did it,' Dave smirks. You roll your eyes and exchange phones, quickly tapping your number and contact information before swapping phones again. "dave," the contact says.

"How will I know this Dave is you, Dave?" You try to ask seriously, although it's still clear that you're being annoying. You're pretty bad at hiding when you're trying to joke around.

'I'm the one and only Dave, John' he slyly signs without hesitation. You chuckle.

"Whatever. Text me the details, okay? Like, the address, the time..."

Dave waves you off to cut you off, then gives you a thumbs up. 'See ya, bro,' he signs, before slowly turning away to walk to the left where his neighborhood was. You stare after him for a few seconds, then shake your head to focus and walk to the right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait im the worst at this, but my motivation for this story suddenly bubbled up again so im going to be writing a lot more! im so sorry for taking so long hahaha

You don’t look back for a few strides, keeping your neck stiff while facing forward. The knuckles on your hands were white from how tight you were pulling on your baggy shirt. After your scuffed shoes pass a shadow of the end of the block casted by the afternoon sun, you allow yourself to take a peak over your shoulder.

An audible exhale escapes your clenched jaws when you do not see a soul behind you. A bead of sweat trickles down your back, making you shiver as you continue on your way. Although you were noticeably less tense, you were, well… still pretty god damn tense.

 _Oh man._ That was really the only thought going through your mind the entire trek home. It kept circulating, bouncing off the foggy outlines of your brain, repeating itself with a continual increase in volume. You couldn’t believe you invited John Egbert to your beat-dropping session. Your last one. Your final showdown. The Spit To End All Spits. 

Okay, maybe not a spit. But still. Same intensity, same importance.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It’ll be fine. No one will notice him. He probably won’t even show up. Wouldn’t that be funny? 

You pause in front of your door, your hand idly grazing your pockets for the key. Somehow, that last thought didn’t seem too appealing.

After unlocking the door with clammy hands, you immediately round the corner and stomp up the stairs to your room. You flop onto your bed, throwing your face into your pillow. A quiet groan manages to wriggle past your unused vocal chords. Why were you so damn _nervous?_ It was an unfamiliar feeling, especially when it came to music. Even just thinking about immersing yourself in music calmed you down. 

So, why…?

Your bedroom door slams open so hard behind you that you felt the walls shake. In a flash you’re flipped around, facing it, arms crossed against your chest defensively. A tall figure stands in the door frame. You can see his smirk. Your heartbeat races. You feel your skin immediately chill from sweat.

“Thought I wasn’t home, didn’t you?” His voice is snide, and it pisses you the fuck off. “Normally you’d pussy out and hide somewhere I wouldn’t look.”

‘What the f—‘ You attempt to sign, but he is suddenly at your side with a kitchen knife to your throat.

“Please don’t waste my time with that hand signal bullshit.” The blade is steady against your wavering Adam’s apple. “Now I want you to tell me what you did.”

 _What?_ You have no idea what he’s talking about. What’s worse is that you don’t know if Bro is joking or not – his voice is manipulative and smooth. He taunts you while threatening you. Unpredictability is his ultimate weapon, and you have a feeling you’ll never be able to thwart it.

Seeing as Bro doesn’t understand _any_ sign language, you just shake your head and shrug your shoulders, hoping that it signals an ‘I don’t know.’ Hope was not on your side. Your response infuriates Bro; he suddenly backs up, and his face twitches like he’s about to yell. In a fit of panic, you kick up your legs to help gain momentum to sit up and knock Bro’s shades off of his face as a result. Your heart drops when he whips around and traps you with his pointed gaze: orange and livid.

“You little shit,” he snarls as you scramble off of your bed and race towards the door. You hear Bro right behind you. A few things clink and you hear some of your glass jars smash on the floor. Anger bubbles up in your throat, but it doesn’t override the panic that is causing your palms to slip off of the door knob. 

_Shit!_ You locked it when you came back inside!

“You better be getting your sword ready for a fuckin’ strife, little bro!” Bro roars as he exits your room. Glancing around with stress, you abandon the door and rush up the stairs to the left of your room, opposite of where Bro is charging towards you.  
You realize your mistake when you’re met with the city sprawled beneath you.

The stairs led to the apartment building roof.

Where you normally strifed.

Your shaky hands reach behind you to clasp the cinderblock edge of the roof. Bro gives a dramatic sigh as he leans against the opposite wall, hand on the handle of a katana. “It didn’t have to be this way!” he shouts theatrically. You resist the urge to curl your lip with second-hand embarrassment. Bro looks you up and down; you can see his judging eyes saccade over you, and you wince when you see a hint of… pity?

“Come on, Dave, you didn’t grab your sword? I gave you plenty of time to do so.” Your shoulders raise defensively at how ludicrous that statement was, but you don’t say anything. You can’t. “Well, lucky for you, big bro’s got you covered.” Bro grabs another sword off the hilt of his belt. You didn’t realize how many blades he kept on him. It makes you shudder.

You take a deep breath. _Ain’t no way in hell am I going to show that I’m scared of him._ You flick your chin upwards and hold out your hand to catch your sword by its hilt. It’s… incredibly smaller than Bro’s. _Just don’t think about it._ You place your feet shoulder length apart and raise an eyebrow to challenge him.

A nearly sadistic grin spreads across Bro’s face as he charges towards you. You see his left shoulder twitch; you spin from your right to block it against the beginning of your sword’s hilt, then lurch forward and stab the hilt into Bro’s stomach. He lets out a puff of air in surprise, but your block only seems to motivate him to beat you.

Soon the strife is too quick for calculated thinking. Both of your movements are like wind, constantly clashing and never standing still for a millisecond. Sounds of metal clang like clockwork as you both get into a rhythm of attacking and blocking, attacking and blocking, attacking and – 

Your sword’s length betrays you; too short, you over extend forward and lose your balance. Bro takes advantage of your weakness and raises his blade over his shoulder. You roll a few times as your dagger slides across the cinderblock roof. The reflection of Bro’s katana flashes in your shades as he swipes it downward before you can move.

It pauses just above your face. You stare up with terror.

"I win," he growls with an almost predatory tone. "I _always_ win." 

You stare up at him, not sure what he wants. Normally he just leaves you alone at this point. But he doesn't this time.

His next words are deliberate, heavy. "Tell. Me. What. You. Did."

You shake your head and shrug even harder than before. 'I didn't do anything!' you mouth, hoping your lips were readable. 

Bro raises his katana again, disgust on his face. "Use your fucking VOICE! Stop acting like a fucking cripple and just tell me WHAT YOU DID!"

The sun reflects into your eyes despite of your shades.

 

There is a blinding red moment of pain.


End file.
